Come Back Safe
by AlxM
Summary: "If I don't come back before dawn," Dean says, his hands along with the blade at his sides. "Leave. Drive out of here, and don't look back," he finishes quietly. / "Come back safe," he whispers anyway. "Please." / Dean's going in to kill Abaddon. It's a question of whether he'll come out or not. Sam waits for him, and worries about that same question.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: Hi! So this is my way of staying on track with my writing skills and make sure I don't get rusty, because I haven't been writing enough lately. And also, my way of releasing my cruel, cruel feels from what's going on in the show. But I have this feeling that I can't shake off that the writers _will_ fix them by the end of the season. They have to! Or I will... I will... I will cry! Mhm. (Oh God, the horrors of that threat *rolls eyes*). I shall trustingly put my faith on those who have hurt me. Okay, I'll stop. *sheepish*

**Warnings**: Optional deathfic, which means you get to choose if you want to see it that way or read the happy ending as well. A few F words here and there. And my writing's probably a bit vague, or at least it seems that way to me. But I hope you like it!

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**Come Back Safe**

"You're not going anywhere, Sam."

Sam's eyebrows scrunch with anger, his nostrils flaring. "Like hell I'm not! You need back-up in there."

"Yeah, and what are you gonna do in there except get yourself killed, huh? You can't swing the blade on her, Sam. I can, 'cause I'm the one with the Mark," Dean says, and though his reasoning's correct, Sam's too stubborn to admit it. And also, he simply doesn't want his brother to do this alone, because he's terrified that this will be his brother's last battle, that this will be the last time he'll see him.

"I'll distract her," Sam suggests persistently, his face imperturbable and determined, promising an argument if needed until he gets his way.

Dean jerks his head towards the side, over his shoulder. "I've got the King of Hell for that."

"Yeah, and can you trust him? 'Cause I can tell you from experience that trusting a demon only ends up leaving you screwed," Sam says, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "What happens when he decides to turn on you and stab you in the back, Dean? Like Ruby did with me."

"Hello, I'm right here," Crowley's accented voice pipes up from behind Dean, one hand in his pocket and the other waving up at him.

Dean's hardened face is impassive as he stares at Sam. "My decision is final-"

"Screw your damn decisions, Dean!" Sam explodes, throwing his arms wide as he steps threateningly closer to his brother. "It was _your_ damn decisions that got me possessed by a psycho angel! _Your_ damn decisions that got our relationship screwed! _Your_ damn decisions that got Kevin killed! So I'm sorry if I'm a bit doubtful of your fucking judgement right now." Sam breathes heavily for a short pause, before he continues in a low, seething voice," And who the hell are you to make decisions for me, huh? 'Cause that went so well last time, right? I'm not a kid anymore, Dean. When will you see that?"

He expects Dean to get pissed at him in return, to reciprocate his fury and his hurtful words, give it right back to him, fight back, maybe even punch him in the face.

But instead Dean stands there, lips pursed and face still stoic and emotionless, before he turns away from him to move towards the car trunk, taking the Blade that Crowley had handed to him a few days ago after deeming that he's not planning on stabbing him with it. The Mark on his arm glows as he wields it, but it doesn't hurt anymore as he watches it, the red lines running smoothly over his veins.

Silence fills the area, and Sam feels shitty as hell. What is he doing? He might never see Dean come out from those doors, and he's here trying to get into an argument with him?

It takes him back to his dad; when the very last time he saw him, he tried to pick a fight with him, and he remembers how awful it made him feel. How awful it still makes him feel.

"Dean..." Sam begins, his voice softening with guilt and remorse.

"It's not about you being a kid, Sam," Dean cuts in, his back still faced towards him as his head remains ducked, staring down at the blade. "It's... it's about you being my little brother." Dean's voice is soft as he says the words, and he turns his face slightly towards Sam until a fraction of his cheek can be seen. "No matter what you say."

Sam exhales through his nose, looking down at his hands in shame at the last words, and waits for Dean to continue. "I just don't want you to get hurt, Sam... and Abaddon? She's one powerful bitch. A goddamn knight of Hell. And you can't protect yourself against someone you can't even hurt. All those weapons in our trunk? They'll be no use against her. She can kill you within a second if you get too close. I don't want that, because losing you never ended well, for you or for me."

Then he turns around fully, looking right at his brother. "Me on the hand, I've got the blade and the Mark. And Crowley's got his demon mojo."

Dean inhales, and lifts his chin. "So, I'm gonna go in there. I'm gonna kill that demon-queen bitch. And Cas is gonna stay here to make sure you don't try to get in. If you try anything stupid, like sending Cas off with any sigils, I will kick your ass. And I swear, I mean it this time."

A small smile briefly curls at Dean's lips at the past harmless threat, even though it's not exactly playful this time.

He pulls the trunk down. "If I don't come back before dawn," Dean says, his hands along with the blade at his sides, and Sam's heart clenches and jolts painfully in his chest at the implication in his words. "Leave. Drive out of here, and don't look back," he finishes quietly.

"Dean," Sam tries again, his voice coming out too quiet and sad.

Dean strides off, determined and purposefully, towards the large building without listening to him, Crowley trailing behind.

"Come back safe," he whispers anyway. "Please."

.

.

.

An hour later, and Sam's already jittery and fidgety with nerves and fear, a thousand wonders and questions rushing frantically through his mind. His stomach churns with compunction and his heart aches with remorse as he realizes that he never got to say anything to take his harsh words back, and it leaves his chest feeling heavy and constrictive with dread and worry when he realizes that those may just be his final words to Dean. What if Dean never comes back out by the next morning? What if Sam never gets to see him again? What if he never gets to tell him that he's sorry for what he said, for the way he hurt him with his words? What if he never gets to tell him that he forgave him and that... that he loved him? What if Dean dies, thinking that Sam hated him? Thinking that he didn't want to be his brother? Thinking that he blamed him for Kevin's death and the broken state of their relationship? He knows Dean believes all of that, and now probably even more so after his words to him just about an hour earlier.

They make him all the more terrified and impatient for his big brother's return. He promises himself that as soon as Dean comes out of there - and he tells himself over and over that he will, and he will keep on doing so until he's convinced and believes nothing else - he'll hug him, tight and hard, and not let him go until Dean gets pissed and shoves him away (_and it oddly hurts when he thinks that Dean probably won't. Will probably take whatever bit of affection Sam would provide him after all that cold 'only business partners' treatment_). He makes a silent deal with anyone who's listening, that he'll be a better brother to Dean, that he'll treat him better and let Dean know every day how much he appreciates him. Just please, please, let him come back alive and in one piece.

He feels Cas' erythraen blue eyes gazing intently at him, and he knows the angel can sense his fierce emotions. But he tries to ignore him and his intense stare and resumes his worry and apprehension for Dean.

.

.

.

It's almost dawn.

He's pacing manically, _back and forth_... _back and forth_... _back and forth_... the look in his darkened, bloodshot eyes are slightly wild and crazed with perturbation and distress as he does so, his hair disheveled from his fingers constantly running through it and his lip split and bleeding from him consistently chewing with anxiety on it. Images of Dean, bloodied and bruised, dying with a knife in his chest or gut as Abaddon stood with a malicious smile over him haunting his thoughts, leaving him even more scared and agitated, if possible, as he glances at the door again and there's a millionth jolt tugging violently at his heart with terror for his brother.

"Why isn't he coming back, Cas?" he asks, a tremor in his voice. "He should have been back by now."

Cas doesn't answer.

And that's when he loses it.

Because the next thing he knows, he's screaming bloody murder at Cas to _let me go in there right the fuck now or I swear I will stab you in the neck_ and _Dean needs me can't you see that_ and _what if he's dying and you know this is gonna be on you if he does because you're the one not letting me go in there - _

In the ten minutes that followed after, he has tried every threat and manipulative taunt and insult he could think of at the angel, even punched him in the face once. But Cas, the damn bastard, remained firm and stubborn in his decision.

And then five minutes later, he's feeling guilty for getting pissed at Cas and for all the things he's said, and he's apologizing profusely and trying not to cry because what if _Dean doesn't come back_?

.

.

.

It's way past dawn. The sun is half-way up, spreading its golden light over the morning blue skies as the angel and the hunter watch its rising. The view might have been pleasant at any other time, but now, the sun brings crude implications with itself that neither of them wanted to face.

And it's late, later than Dean had promised, but they refused to get in the car and leave as he had told them to, holding on to a hope that's probably not even there.

Because if they didn't see it, it didn't happen.

They'll keep waiting.

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_Review and let me know what you think. :D_

_If you like happy endings, read on the next chapter. If you'd like it to stay an angsty deathfic for you, ignore. :)_

_No flaming allowed, not on the story, on the show or on the characters. I'd like to hear your thoughts about what's going on in the show, but I don't want to hear any kind of hatred towards either characters. Constructive criticism is fine for the story, but please be polite._


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: Here's the happy ending. It's short, but sweet, and I hope you enjoy it! :)

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When he opens the door and walks out of that building and into the sunlit world - grimy and sweaty and a bloodied knife and clothes - it doesn't take five seconds, and he had barely even seen the morning glow of the sun before he feels a large, heavy weight collide into him hard, long and muscular arms wrapping tightly around his body. He nearly loses his footing but is saved by the wall behind him as he grapples to stay upright, the deep cold of the barricades cooled by the winter seeping through his clothes and into his back.

Small huffs ruffle his hair and tickle his cheek lightly, and then a harsh sob is breathed shakily into his ear, the body against his wracking and trembling with restrained cries.

And he barely hears the soft and scared confession of his brother's quiet voice, a gentle whisper muffled into his neck as his nose nuzzles up tenderly against his skin. "Thought you weren't gonna come back..."

He's still shocked by the sudden surprise of his brother's desperate embrace, but somehow through its daze, he manages to lift his arms slowly and hold him back, warm and gentle and yet, somehow, firm and tight around him.

"Don't ever do that again," Sam adds quietly.

Dean licks his lips, a small, watery smile tugging at them as he rubs a hand over his brother's back. "I'm back now, Sammy. And I'm not going anywhere."

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_Review please, and let me know what you think!_


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